


But Also By The Heart

by strixus



Series: The Book of Dreams [2]
Category: Gundam Wing, The Endless
Genre: Crossover, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strixus/pseuds/strixus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream takes an interest in the boy who does not dream. What's behind the curtain?</p><p>"We know the truth, not only by the reason, but also by the heart." - Blaise Pascal</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Dreamer Awakens (Epilogue: On the Silver Wings of Sleep)

**Author's Note:**

> "Our life is made by the death of others." - Leonardo da Vinci

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Our life is made by the death of others." - Leonardo da Vinci

"Our life is made by the death of others." - Leonardo da Vinci

 

Darkness.

It was an incredibly welcome sensation to Duo Maxwell to finally have a night of sleep that wasn't plagued by dreams, nor to wake from sleep to the sounds of impending disaster. Death had given him more than she had said up in that small valley, he realized. She had given him peace of mind, or at least, peaceful sleep.

It was in the late hours of the night, more close to dawn than to dusk, when Duo woke. His body needed no more sleep, but it was a few hours yet till the others would rise. He curled back into the sheets; careful of his few injuries from the mission he had come home from a little over twenty-four hours ago. He had been a day late coming home, and the others had been concerned; even Heero. That made him feel better. He had not lied to the other pilots, simply left out what had happened in that afternoon spent in the valley. They would have thought him mad, if they didn't already.

He rolled over, and flopped his still wet braid over his shoulder so that it could air out. It had been a bear to brush out the knots, and to was out the few crusted spots of blood from the nasty gash he had taken on the side of the head from one of the sharp edges in the cockpit of his Gundam. Maybe I should start wearing that safety harness more often, he thought. But the shower had made him feel better, as well, so it had not been a total waste.

Duo lay there, in the small dark room he had claimed as a bedroom in this small house he was fairly certain Quatre's family owned somehow, his mind wandering back through all that had happened. He had met the real Death, and she had been a pretty if pale girl looking barely older than nineteen. She had taken him to breakfast, and asked him questions. Then she had changed him, given him a part of herself and the signal from around her neck, and told him he was now truly the god of death, or at least a part of the true Death. And she had called out the demon that lived in his Gundam, one he could now speak to and understand its dark rumbling answers, and told the demon he was its master. She had granted him powers that were greatly beneficial to him on his missions, stealth and the ability to hear and see into minds.

That made him think of something he had wanted to try. He got up out of the bed, tossing the sheets aside, and walked over to the chair where his lone duffel bag rested. He rummaged for a moment, searching by feel in the darkness rather than by sight, until he came up with a small black pouch. Out of it he pulled a silver ankh on a long silver chain, and slipped it over his head. The metal was cold against bare skin, but he barely noticed. His eyes again saw the delicate silver threads that reached out from every source of life near him to touch him, and he could feel the souls each was attached to, plants, insects, mammals, even the close by souls of the three other pilots who shared the small house. He sighed softly, and walked back to sit on the bed, his damp braid slung over one shoulder. Time to try to touch the other's minds, he thought, time to see what dreams they were having. He closed his eyes, breathed out slowly, focusing on the first of the threads he wanted to explore, and reached down it with his mind.

Quatre's dreams were filled with sunlight. A distant melody played through like wind, one he would try to remember in the morning and be frustrated he could not. There was someone laughing, and birds drifted like kites. Footsteps on a wooden bridge, over a small stream. The flecked shadows of leaves, the smell of cherry blossoms, and a child's voice, singing some singsong rhyme. Duo could not understand the dream, but knew it was a memory from the boy's past. Best to leave this dream, these things were private.

The second of the three he hesitated before touching, wondering what lay in the mind of the boy he knew as Heero Yui.

Shadows, and sudden light, strange sounds like distant thunder. Duo saw little that he understood, but they seemed normal dreams, or even normal nightmares. He withdrew, not wishing to see more.

And then Duo reached to touch the silver thread that led to Trowa, and found the dreams of the silent boy far more disturbing than he had found Heero's. There was nothing, not even blackness. No sound, no shape, no colour. Trowa did not dream.


	2. Where All is But Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Where all is but dream, reasoning and arguments are of no use, truth and knowledge nothing." - John Locke

In the center of the Dreaming, wherever it may be at this moment in time, there is a room that is the heart of the Dreamtime: the throne room of Lord Morpheus. The Master of Stories, the Dream God in more languages than any, the Sandman to many in the modern western world, but with as many names as there are grains of sand in the pouch that is one of his tools.

The other Endless now call him Dream. He is the third in line in the family, younger than Death and Destiny, elder than Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium. He is closest to his youngest and eldest sisters, his realm falling half way between the two, the peace of Death and the fancy of Delirium.

There are serious things afoot in the Dream Lord's realm. A dark and old enemy has returned to attempt to retake the realm of dreams. It has no name to call its self, nor shape to define it, nor colour to describe it with, nor even a voice to name its self. It is old, older than Dream. He has fought it before and won. But it seems stronger now, though still small in its growth. He has yet to find out where it begun its silent, colorless spread from, for its spore must take root in a dreamer to grow. Like all things parasitic, its host will not know of its presence. It is difficult to find. It always has been before.

The Lord of the Dream World will hunt down this thing, has he has before. He must, or loose his kingdom to its nothingness. He has suspicions though, as to where it may have found root this time.

He watches the dreamers, feels the ebb and tide of the waking and sleeping cycles of the planet as the dreamers of earth enter and leave his realm. Time passes no faster for one of the Endless than it does for mortals. Right now it feels to Dream to be slipping through his fingers like sand. The nothingness is growing with every hour. Its dreamer is in the Dreamtime. Dream watches the edge of the nothing, tracing those dreamers it has taken, noting where they are in the Dreaming when it takes them. He traces it back, using small roots as paths to bigger ones, until he finds the tree.

There.

His sister was right when she had spoken of these five children. He should have minded them better, he realized. The changed not only the waking world, but his own realm now felt the shudders of their designs. And like all things that have great force in the Great Book of his elder brother, they attract things to them. And one of them had drawn to him an elder god that now rode like a parasite in his mind. Dream shook his head, and reached out into the Dreaming to summon the most trusted of his agents.

Mathew, in the grove of Fiddlers Green, was preening his wings when the summons came.

"Yes, Boss. I'll be there as fast as I can fly."

With a flurry of black wings, Mathew took flight towards the edge of the Dreaming.

Dream rose from his throne, and moved himself to his gallery. The symbols of his five remaining siblings lay in their frames on the wall. Desire's Heart, Despair's barbed ring, Destiny's book, Delirium's ever-changing colours, and his eldest sister's anhk. It was this he reached for.

My sister, I am standing in my gallery holding your sigil. Will you speak with me?

Her soft, cheerful voice came from beyond the frame. "Yes, little brother. What is it?"

My sister, I understand you recently had dealings with the mortal named Duo Maxwell.

"And?"

She sounded impatient. Odd.

One of his compatriots has come to my attention once more. What I believed to be a fluke is far more serious than I could have imagined. The elder god that has no name has taken the one they know as Trowa Barton as a host.

There was silence from Death's realm.

I am sending Mathew to watch over him until I can force a dream through the elder god's defenses. I would ask that you be on alert if something goes wrong.

"Yes, of course. Shall I warn Duo?"

No, not now. I may be able to deal with this as I have before. If not, we may be in need of your scion's powers.

"Yes. Is that all, brother?"

Yes.

She closed the connection, and he returned the sigil to its frame. If he could not find how the elder god with no name, the nothingness, had entered this mortal's mind, he would have to be killed.


	3. To Know That One Has a Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To know that one has a secret is to know half the secret itself. - Henry Ward Beecher

To know that one has a secret is to know half the secret itself. - Henry Ward Beecher

It was a brilliantly sunny day, the type that draws out even the most secluded and sun fearing people to bathe in its rays, to warm their tired bones and bodies in its glory. It had all the intentions of a blisteringly hot day, but it was still early in the morning, long before the heat of the day, and the air was still damp from morning dew. Duo had drug out a blanket to the front yard, and was laid out on his stomach reading a dog-eared novel. The sun warmed the two pulled muscles in his back through his usual black clothing. He was almost over the shock of this morning, of reaching into the minds of his fellow pilots as they slept, and finding nothingness in the mind of Trowa that had threatened to engulf his own mind. It had shaken him. But he was better now, back to just plain old Duo Maxwell. That's how he would keep it. Never during the day unless it was a mission. That was best.

The screen door of the house creaked and then banged loudly. Duo did not look up to see who had come outside. The book was too good. It was one of his favorites, read and reread tens of times. He was not in the mood for company either.

He expected Quatre, or even Heero. But the cold shadow that fell across him was neither. Duo did not look up, but he knew it was Trowa. Even without the gifts of Death, he knew it was the Heavyarms pilot. He listened as footsteps tread across the soft grass to the tree that Duo had spread his blanket under. Duo looked up, slightly annoyed.

"What?" Duo was in no mood for interruptions. He was almost back to the best part in the book.  
Trowa looked down at him, green eyes obscured by that strangely styled hair. Duo involuntarily shuddered. Those eyes were deader than the cold blue of Heero's eyes.

"Duo, can I sit down?" His voice was soft, dark, like the surface of a cup of hot tea.

"It's a free world, or it should be. " Duo grunted, trying not to let his discomfort show by masking it with annoyance that he did truly feel to some degree. Trowa lowered himself to the edge of the blanket. Duo continued reading, trying to forget the other pilot was there. Pages past in Duo's novel, and he did manage to put the other pilots presence out of his mind.

"I heard you talking to it yesterday." Duo nearly lost his place he jumped so badly, and rounded a baleful glare at Trowa. Trowa did not even flinch. "I saw you talking to Shinigami. I -" Trowa hesitated, and Duo could see what almost looked like discomfort in those empty green eyes. "I wanted to ask you something."

Duo pushed himself up from his belly, and turned to face the brown haired boy. "So ask away."

"Duo, do you some times hear your Gundam answer you when you talk to it?"

Duo sat up strait. How much should I tell him, Duo wondered. Best be honest, and hope I can leave the Lady out of this.

"Yeah. Shinigami talks to me. And she is a she, not an it. " Trowa looked better than he had before. "Would you believe me if I told you all the Gundams have demons living in them?" He expected Trowa to say he was insane. Trowa only nodded. "They do. They are old, powerful demons. Great weapons always have spirits in them. Like Wufie's sword that he says has a name and a spirit. Our Gundams really do." Trowa was watching him intently.

"Can you understand them? What they say, I mean?" Duo nodded slowly. "Then I need a favor of you." Trowa stood, brushing grass from his pants. "Heavyarms has been trying to talk to me, to tell me something. I can't understand it though. Would you - " Duo rose, and nodded again. "I need to know what its saying to me." Duo smiled.

"Gladly. Lets go to the hanger and check up on them."

They walked to the nearby hanger in silence. Duo knew he could understand the language his Gundam spoke without the signal of Death to aid his newfound powers, but he wondered if the Heavyarms Gundam spoke the same tongue. He would simply have to see. They entered through a side door, finding the hanger lit by a single bank of the fluorescent lights that usually flooded the place. They did not turn on more, but simply walked across the metal floor. Trowa's footsteps echoed heavily; Duo hardly made a sound as he walked.

Duo followed Trowa to the Heavyarms, and looked up at the red Gundam. Its dark, tall shape was imposing, but the weaponry systems far more intimidating. In raw firepower, it outclassed even the Wing. But it was slower, more a gun turret than the slash and strike Shinigami or the flash and flame Wing.

"Speak to it, Duo. Ask it what it keeps trying to tell me." Trowa almost sounded frightened. Almost. Duo braced himself, and called to mind how Death had called out the demon in the Shinigami.

"You who are known to us as Heavyarms, head me. Child of night that lives within this metal and silicon shell, hear the chosen Son of your Mother." From the body of the Gundam, a shape moved, as though a flame had been given life. It blazed, filling the hanger with red and orange flickers of light. Trowa, standing beside Duo, gasped softly.

/Why do you call me forth, Son of the Mother of Night?/

It had worked. "Speak, red child, tell me of yourself." The strange mode of speech came naturally to him now. He knew he spoke now in the language of the demons, but it was normal to him.

/I am the war spirit. I am the fire of raised cities. I am battle. Of me the spirits of all younger weapons were formed. /

"Child of flames, you speak to this one beside me, but he does not understand this speech. Convey your message to me, so that he may understand."

The Heavyarms rumbled.

/The elder god with no name, the shapeless one, it has taken him from me!/ The Gundam's voice was a deep shriek./ The dream king watches, and the old battles will be fought again. Warn my master, who has led me to so many great battles and brought me more glory, that he is in danger. The lord of the Dreamtime is coming for him. /

Duo raised his arms, and spoke once more. "Return to your chosen shell, war spirit, one who is known as Heavyarms. Your message shall be spoken."

The great, seething mass of flames retreated back into the shell of the mobile suit, leaving the hanger once more in almost total darkness. Trowa's jaw was hanging askew, his green eyes wide in shock.

"Trowa." Duo looked at the pilot of the red Gundam. "Trowa, it says you're in danger. Something about an elder god with no name having taken you from it, and the dream king coming for you."  
Trowa's green eyes looked at Duo and then back at his now silent Gundam.

"The dream king - he can't come for me. I don't dream."


	4. By Which People Shall Be Judged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One's past is what one is. It is the only way by which people should be judged. - Oscar Wilde

One's past is what one is. It is the only way by which people should be judged. -Oscar Wilde

Mathew had watched the two boys walk away from his perch high in the old tree, and from there he watched them walk back, listening to them talk. What he heard sent him fluttering up to the peak of the roof, squawking with agitation.

"Boss, urgent news!"

Dream's voice came to the bird in his mind. Yes, Mathew?

"The kid you told me to watch. He knows about the ... " Mathew cawed in frustration. "He knows about the unwelcome guest."

This is bad news, Mathew. The elder god now knows that I have located his host.

Mathew shifted on his perch, and ruffled his feathers. "What should I do, Boss? Keep watching?"

Yes, Mathew. Continue to watch. I must press what little advantage I have left soon. Report to me if anything unusual occurs.

"Will do, Boss."

Mathew flapped back down to the old tree, which afforded him a good view into the hall of the second floor of the house. It was going to be another one of those missions. At least this time, Mathew thought, it wasn't raining.

Dream paced the central room of the Dreaming, his mind racing. How much could he risk moving this quickly against such a foe? He had fought before and won, had beaten back this shapeless thing time and time again since he had carved his realm from the chaos of the beginning. But it was definitely stronger this time, growing faster than it ever had before. His power was severely limited by the fact that the elder god now knew he had located the creature's host. What could he do?

It dawned on him slowly, but the answer was a hard pressed one. He did not like admitting the limits of his own power in such a way. And yet, oracles had served him well in the past, and perhaps this time they could save his realm once more.

But which to summon? He needed to know the past of his human boy, and needed to know his weakness. How had the creature found root in this mind? There were few that could answer questions such as that. Of those that could, whom could he trust?

Of course. The twin goddesses, the Hands of Thoth, Shai and Renenet. But where to find such elder goddesses? He knew of course. They still dwelt in their old homes, at the pillars of Balance, in a far corner of the upper realms.

The journey was an easy one for him, a matter of will. Within moments he stood outside the remains of their once great temple. Dedicated once to their father, the mighty god of wisdom and learning, the ibis Thoth, it stood in ruins now. Thoth had long ago lost his followers, but his daughters had survived.

At the threshold he called out to them. Hands of Thoth, Daughters of knowledge and wisdom, Divine wisdom of the gods, someone seeks your insights.

And they were there, standing before him with the suddenness of gods unused to parishioners. Mirrors of each other, even in their old age, Renenet and Shai greeted him with warm smiles and soft, hissing voices.

"Welcome, Dream King, Father of the Sky Mother..." "Of the Sky Mother, Dream guide and song, Welcome."

Sisters, I come to ask you for an oracle, to ask you for your wisdom to guide me.

"So he comes searching, asking for answers..." " Asking for answers is he, the Dream Lord, friend of our father."

Will you grant me an oracle?

"Yes..." They said together. "Speak your questions. We will answer as we know."

The Elder God, the shapeless one, has come once more. They hissed softly, knowing the seriousness of this. I know his host, but I know not how to reach him. They nodded to each other.

"Speak your questions, Dream King, so that we...." " King, so that we may answer you and aid you."

The mortal is known as Trowa Barton. I would know his fate.

It was Shai who spoke. "The mortal known as Trowa Barton has the fate of a savior. He is one of the chosen, the changers, the warriors of the Sky Mother. He will scream from the heavens to bring peace in waves of blood. No ill must come to him, or the whole of the universe will suffer."

So I must not kill him. I must defeat the Elder God in his mind.

"Yes..." They said as one.

This is dire news, sisters. Then tell me of his past, so that I may know how to enter his dreams.

Renenet answered this turn. "He is the wild card, the null, the blank rune. His past is blank to him. He is Nanashii, the nameless. Enter him through the darkness, the place behind the curtain, before the lights of the show. There, behind the mask you will find his dreams, hidden not by the nameless thing, but by himself."

What boon may I offer him to free him of the nameless one?

"Offer him that which he has not..." "He has not a past, offer him his past."

Tell me his past, and I will grant him his memories in dreams.

"We will tell you..." "You of his past."

"Listen..."


	5. Where We Are Least Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In solitude, where we are least alone." - Lord Byron

There is a place in the Dreaming few enter, and even Dream finds it uncomfortable to face. In the darkest area of the Palace of the Dreaming, there is a theater. It has been there since the beginning, and Dream is fairly sure he was not the one who brought it to be. This is where he was told to find the dreams of the mortal known as Trowa Barton. It is where the failed dreams of actors and writers live. It is a truly sad place. But those dreams dance and act silently before the curtain. Dream is going someplace darker.

Behind the curtain of the Theater of Lost Dreams.

He climbs the stairs to the stage in silence, and reaches out to touch the dark red velvet curtain, the colour of old blood. It is cold, like the touch of space. He lifts the edge, and vanishes into the darkness of this place with no name.

A storm has come to the small house shared by the four pilots. Only two are home, the other two gone on missions to far distant places. In the bedroom at the end of the hall, the boy known as Trowa Barton closes dark green eyes and drifts into sleep. For the first time in his memory, he finds himself in a dream. In another room near the top of the steps, Duo Maxwell dreams of a gray place filled with the sounds of laughing children. His hand is clutched around a gold cross at his throat. Outside a window at the far end of the hall, Mathew is fluffed into a rain soaked ball of feathers, mumbling under his breath. He hates rain.

Dream has found at last the hidden dreams of the mortal host of the nameless elder god. He wanders through them for a while, witnessing memories, hopes and fears the boy himself has hidden away long ago. Finally he finds one that seems safe. He enters it, and pulls the fabric of the dreaming close around the dream to protect it from the nothingness.

Trowa is dreaming.

The smell of the animal cages, the sawdust, the canvas.

He is holding a blank half mask, wondering what to paint on its blank surface. It stairs at him mockingly almost, for his mind is blank of ideas.

A dark shadow falls across him, and he looks up. The man is pale, dressed in black, and tall and gaunt. His eyes are points of blackness in his white face, framed by a tousle of raven feather hair.

He is not a part of the dream. He is different.

He calls Trowa by a name he does not know, but somehow he knows it is the right name. He tells him of a creature living inside of him, feeding off of his emptiness. A shapeless monster fed by the void of memory and dream in his mind. Trowa knows this. The creature is inside his head. He fed his memories to it when it offered to make the pain go away. It had, but had left nothing in its place.

The tall man in black wanted to give him back what he had lost, to make the creature go away. It was hurting others, he said, hurting a place called the Dreaming. Trowa nodded. It was the tall man's duty to protect the Dreaming. Trowa understood duty, and understood the tall man's wishes.

In the way of dreams they were now back stage of a theater, behind a rich velvet curtain the colour of old blood. The circus was gone, but he never noticed the change. The tall man offered him a hand, and offered him a deal. The return of his memories in dreams, slowly over years in exchange for allowing the tall man to remove the creature from his mind.

Trowa took the hand, and his mind filled with a blinding wave of noise and colours.

It was done. The creature was banished once more. Dream had run a river of the pure fabric of the dreaming through the boy's mind, and the creature had vanished like mist before the dawn. And now he set about filling the promise he had made to the boy. From behind the curtain in the Theater of Lost Dreams he pulls into the light a glowing sphere of light.

The mortal's dreams.

Dream cups them in both hands, and pulls them close to his face. In a whisper, he tells them what Shai and Renenet told him of the boy's past. All of it.


	6. Into the Rose-Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Footfalls echo in the memory  
> Down the passage which we did not take  
> Towards the door we never opened  
> Into the rose-garden. "  
> -T. S. Eliot

Mathew.

Dream's voice startles the bird out of its wet misery. He squawks a wordless question.

It is done. The nameless elder god is banished again.

"Can I come home now, Boss? It's really miserable here."

No, Mathew. Stay until the morning. I wish to see if what I have done has taken hold.

"Yes, Boss." With a bird sigh, Mathew fluffs himself back out against the rain.

Dream is watching the dreams of the boy, watching as they slowly progress through the cycle. They will repeat until he remembers them all, when all his memory has returned from where it has been hidden by the elder god.

Dream is troubled.

The boy had welcomed in this creature, the elder god with no name who fed on void, and had fed it his memories. What he had seen and heard from Shai and Renenet had been terrible: a childhood of horrors. It was little wonder the boy had wanted rid of them. Death had been right. Humans could be cruel creatures to their own kind. But Dream knew that there was still beauty to them. He saw it in his own realm, in what they dreamed. And now he saw it in small places in the dreams of this nameless boy. Perhaps that beauty would return to the dreams of this mortal child.

Dream would make sure somehow that it did.

Duo Maxwell's sleep was light that night, troubled by the sounds of laughing children and the feel of a gray place he did not know. The storm rattled at the window, adding more noise to his dreams. A voice was talking, a woman's voice that was soft and gentile. And suddenly he heard a dark deep voice telling him to wake up.

His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the gloom. Something had woken him. A dream? He couldn't remember what it had been about. Only something about small children laughing. He shivered and pulled the sheets around himself. Hours could have pasted, or only minutes. Duo had almost drifted back into the darkness of sleep when a cry ripped through the darkness, muffled by the walls of his room.

Panic filled him, and set his heart racing. He leapt from the bed, and was half way to the door when it came again, louder. Duo was barely thinking coherently enough to know it was coming from Trowa's room down the hall. He rushed down the hall, braid slapping against his bare back. Where were Heero and Quatre? Why weren't they awake? They were gone, he realized, on a mission together. His hand was on the doorknob when the cry came again, much louder and more urgent. Duo pushed the door open, and stopped cold.

Trowa was sitting up in his bed, chest heaving, eyes open wide in fear. Duo could see Trowa shaking, even in the dim light. And he could see the tears on the boy's face, running in silvery tracks from those dark green eyes. Duo had never been so disturbed by a single sight in his life. Duo realized that he was probably as disturbing of a sight, standing there with his mouth agape in nothing more than a pair of boxers and his hair.

Minutes pasted, and neither boy said a word.

Finally Duo managed to speak. "Trowa, I thought I heard-"

Trowa cut him off. "You did. I'm ok. Go back to bed."

"Are you sure?" Duo was concerned.

"Yes. Go back to bed, Duo."

Duo turned to go, and Trowa spoke again. "And don't mention this to Quatre or Heero. Especially not Heero."

Duo looked back at Trowa and nodded. He understood the quite boy wanting to save face.

"Good night, Duo. Go to bed."

Duo nodded. "Good night."

He walked back down the hall, his mind pondering over what had happened. It was none of his business, but he still wondered what nightmare was enough to wake the Heavyarms' pilot screaming in terror. As he curled back into his bed, he decided it was defiantly a good thing he didn't know.


End file.
